Send Me a Letter
by Hekko
Summary: It all started one fair afternoon with an irritated Snape, two potions being made and nine hells being filled. Shortly, an explosive mixture. A romantic comedy or comedial romance. After the war. Disregarding HBP.
1. The Nine Hells of the Hogwarts' Master

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.

I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Send Me a Letter  
The Nine Hells of the Hogwarts' Master**

* * *

It was one of the last warm days in October. The weather was extraordinary beautiful, the blue sky was decorated by clouds, the soft breeze brought seductive smell of dying leaves to the Hogwarts grounds and Hogwarts renewed Potions master Severus Snape was sending all the world (and few individuals in particular) to the hell.

The dungeons were silent except for bubbling from two cauldrons. Snape preferred keeping his emotions inside his head, so he seemed to be perfectly calm while his thoughts wandered through a land where at least half of the people Snape knew had been murdered violently.

To the hell with Albus Dumbledore, decided Snape. To hell with the old manipulative fool who had _had_ to emerge just in time to save Snape from dementor's kiss or rotting in Azkaban for the rest of his miserable, meaningless life. He had _never_ asked for this lonely eternity brightened time to time with a lemon drop.

Snape didn't like lemon drop brighteness.

To the second hell with Veronica Shandess. The stupid _woman_, who should have taught Potions while he should have been happy, or at least content Defense Against Dark Arts master, simply got lost during her holiday to be found only on the thirtieth of August, comatose. As far as Snape knew, she hadn't woken up so far. The only teacher Dumbledore had been able to get before the school started had been Remus Lupin.

Lupin _sucked_ at Potions. So, of course, Lupin had got DADA and Snape had got stuck with Potions.

Not that he minded so much. Over the course of years he had grown accustomed to quiet dungeons and he had started research he would like to finish but _it just wasn't fair._ He had been beaten by a werewolf. The werewolf. Twice!

And, not to forget, to the third hell with Remus Lupin.

Snape toyed idly with rat liver on his desk, watching the cauldrons and frowning. He felt like throwing something against nearest wall. Of course, he wasn't going to throw anything against the innocent wall, but the idea was tempting at the moment. _Very_ tempting. His frown deepened and he threw the rat liver into the left cauldron.

Thinking of cauldrons... to the fifth... no, not yet, to the _fourth_ hell with St. Mungo's incompetent idiots of employees who had remembered to order some Advanced Diagnostic Draught right at the instant they had needed it. Like if he could brew it in two minutes. Or had stores of it somewhere. It had collided with his research and no way had he been willing to stop in the middle of work, ruin his potion and work on their precious Draught instead.

So he ended up with two potions in labour, which, given his state of mind, hadn't been the brightest idea in the first place. Maybe he should have told the St. Mungo's receptionist exactly what he had thought of their Advanced Diagnostic Draught as well as of their ability to order potions in time. But no, he had accepted the order like some brainless hero ready to save the world, or at least the hospital, any bloody time.

Oh, a hero... time for the fifth hell now. Right in there with Rita Skeeter and her devilish article about the Order hero, Severus Snape. It had been awarded The Best Satiric Piece of the Year just a month ago and it was still very popular. Snape didn't particularly like being adored by other people, but he _hated_ to be laughed at. Thanks to Skeeter, he could hear the laughter even there and then. And even in the middle of night, lying awake in his own bed, guarded by his wards. How he hated the ill-tongued bitch! The fifth hell served her right. She would suffer there for the whole eternity.

Speaking of adored heros, the sixth hell should be filled with Harry Potter's shrieks of terror. The ridiculous _brat_, unlike him, was adored and was NOT being laughed at. Maybe he should share his unfortunate fate with his _bloody_ father.

At this stage, it was hard to distinct what was boiling more violently, Snape's potions or Snape's blood.

The seventh hell, the Potions master decided, should belong to Black. No doubt he was already in there. The thought made Snape's mind a bit lighter, as he carefully checked his notes on his research. He let his hands continue cutting aconite on their own, analysing the colour of the liquid in the left cauldron.

Snape glanced at the clock above an old wooden cabinet. He had just few minutes before the students arrived for their well earned detentions. To the eighth hell with them, then. They had been snogging in the corridors so senselessly that they had completely failed to greet him (as they should have), not even mentioning they should have stopped snogging in his presence. Prefects, on the top of it. He sneered at the non-present students, wishing them to come late so he could be especially nasty to them. Or not come at all. That way he could finish the potions without distraction AND be especially nasty to them the next day.

Or he can be especially nasty to them without any further reason.

He grabbed a bowl with pounded scarab beetles and swept the powder into the right cauldron. Seven times anti-clockwise... and then, just in time, cool down the other potion. He looked at the clock again. One to seven and still no sign of the love-birds. They would most certainly come late.

As his eyes slid down from the clock and over his desk, he sighed. There was a parchment lying on the desk. A letter, in fact.

So, to the nineth hell with Miss Hermione Granger, who had never EVER responded any of his letters, no matter how long or short or even self-humiliating they had been. Snape threw slice of horn toad spleen in the right cauldron, completely ignoring two very important facts. First, that he had never sent any of those letters for Miss Hermione Granger. Second, that he had been adding ingredients to the wrong cauldrons for the last ten minutes.

The explosion of the right cauldron made the cabinets tremble, books and phials from open shelves falling on the floor. Three seconds later the reheated left cauldron blew up as well, this time shaking the very walls of the laboratory. Snape flew backwards to the wall, hitting it with his head first and passing out. In seconds, the laboratory was filled with thick yet warm, strangely sparkling fog.

* * *

He was lying on a cool and hard surface. The floor, probably. He opened his eyes and blinked to clear them.

_What am I doing on the floor?_

Slowly he remembered. He looked around the laboratory. Everything looked so strange. So... different. His head threatened to split in two pieces, but he carefully lifted it to have a better look at his surroundings.

The table on which the cauldrons had been placed wasn't there anymore; instead, a huge violet stool stood in the middle of the room. Next to it, on the stock of wooden sticks, one of the cauldrons lay, the other couldn't be seen anywhere. The floor was covered with rubbish of what Snape didn't recognise much. There was a pink hat with fruit on the top of it that he saw certainly for the first time in his life. And his cabinet changed colour to orange. And some of the books were now in different shades of pink, purple and orange. And...

He cautiously turned his head to both sides. _Everything_ seemed to be in different shades of pink, purple, violet and orange. The explosion must have impacted his sight somehow. No wonder, seeing what it had done with size of everything...

He frowned. It hadn't been such an explosion to enlarge the room. What meant that he himself had shrunk.

Mind racing over what could have caused the mixed potions to take such effect, he tried to stand up, finding the motion strangely unusual. He was startled by a knock followed immediately by the sound of an opening door.

"Professor Snape?" a girl voice called. He recognised Orla Quirke, the Ravenclaw prefect, who came for her detention along with her boyfriend, a prefect Stewart Ackerley.

Snape intented on giving the two students a piece of his mind, but no words left his mouths. In fact, his harsh words could be heard as a series of _squeaks_. He felt a cold rush of panic rising from his stomach and tried again, this time failing even remembering what he was going to say. Unable to resist his own fear, he shrieked in terror. This attracted the students. The girl - _Quirke_, he reminded himself - picked him up from the floor, carefully placing one hand under his _butt_ to support his body, and presented him to her companion.

"Stewart, look!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know Professor Snape had a squirrel." She turned him over, her attention fully on him.

_I'm not a squirrel!_ Snape tried to protest, unsuccessfully. The girl petted his belly, checked his tiny limbs, peeked into his mouth and finally settled into scratching under his chin.

It felt good.

The last thought Severus Snape managed to process at least in the sanctuary of his mind was how _disgusted_ he felt with himself.

* * *

Stewart watched his girlfriend impatiently. He hadn't been lucky enough to kiss her in the afternoon without that old bitter _bat_ interrupting them, they had been both awarded _detention_ with the said damned bat and now, when they had come to serve the detention, the stupid professor wasn't even there, while _his_ girlfriend was fully occupied with stroking a squirrel.

"We should tell this to Professor Dumbledore," Orla said and pressed the squirrel to her breasts.

"Shouldn't we try to look for Snape?" Orla shook her head.

"Well, can you see him anywhere?" she pointed out. Stewart tried to find Snape under a black cloth that might have been a pair of robes before the explosion.

"Don't be ridiculous," Orla intervened. "Let's go, shall we?"

"Can't you at least leave the bloody squirrel here?" Stewart asked, irritated.

"Oh, but he's not a common squirrel, he's a rainbow squirrel." Stewart's expression lacked any sign of recognition.

In fact, for a while, it lacked any sign of intelligence.

"Rainbow squirrels are magical creatures," Orla supplied. "They don't live so high as here, so he must be someone's pet." The squirrel squirmed and squeaked.

"You can tell it's a he?" Stewart felt insanely jealous of the poor animal. He couldn't help it, as long as his girlfriends attention was fully on it.

"Yeah," Orla nodded and turned the squirrel over for Stewart to see its belly. He refused to have a look. "My uncle used to breed them," Orla continued. "We all helped, so I learned a lot about them. Can we now go to tell Dumbledore?"

"And what would you like to tell me, dear girl?" a pleasant and amused voice sounded from the door.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Orla exclaimed happily. "We were coming down here to serve a detention and we heard an explosion. When we came in, we found the room in this state. And the squirrel." Dumbledore stepped in the room carefully and started examinating the walls and furnishing. At the apprisal of the animal he turned to Orla and took it from her hands.

"Hm, a rainbow squirrel. I didn't know Severus had a pet. Aside from the tarantula." Both students adopted horrified expressions and their eyes drifted to shadowed corners. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Don't worry, children, it died years ago. I assume, Miss Quirke, from your previous statement, that you are capable of taking care of this... little friend of Severus'?" The squirrel squirmed again and managed to bite Dumbledore. Orla caught the little body just before it hit the floor.

"What did get into him?" she wondered.

"Maybe he's injured?" Dumbledore queried. Orla scratched the squirrel behind his ears while turning him over once again to check him over.

"No, though it's a little wonder. He's a lucky little boy, isn't he?" and raising him to her eye level, she examined his eyes. "Not a single scratch... aside from a scar on his belly, but that's been there for some time."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but he merely sighed.

"I'm afraid Professor Snape wouldn't be ready to supervise your detention tonight. What did you two do, anyway, to get it?"

"We... er... weren't paying attention," Stewart answered elusively.

"Oh, I think we can pardon you then. Miss Quirke, could you take care of this... lucky boy?" Orla nodded. "Then do it, please, until we find Professor Snape. You may both go." As the students left, Dumbledore alarmed the rest of professors, running a list of possible supply teachers in his head.

The list was very short.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope I made you laugh, or at the very least snigger, with this one. The second chapter is nearly finished and should be up as soon as possible. I hope you'll stick with me and my little silly story (it won't be too long). Please review. Thanks for reading. 


	2. Even an Unsuccesful Student Can

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.

I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Send Me a Letter  
Even an Unsuccesful Student Can Become a Teacher**

* * *

The muggle park next to the Manchester Wizarding University was a busy place around the lunch time. Some businessmen chose old benches to eat their lunch in the open air, students were chatting, discussing and gossipping. Only the noise of playing children diminished around noon - small children were taken home for a meal and some rest, while the older were still at school. 

On a lonely bench under a chestnut tree, Hermione Granger was sitting, watching her former schoolmates. One of them was trying out muggle-repelling spells, while the rest was laughing at a young businessman, whose eyes skipped over their little group without registering them. Hermione sighed heavily. She felt very lonely. She was permanently using a very light muggle-repelent spell on herself, yet she couldn't very well join the students.

For Hermione Granger had been expelled from the Manchester Wizarding University for _disrespecting a professor._ Hermione snorted. She couldn't respect someone, who disregarded facts and read too much of Rita Skeeter. And when the stupid cow had dared to say that Severus Snape hadn't deserved to be called a war hero, Hermione had sort of... exploded. The following _discussion_ had amused half the student body (or at the very least all the students present at the Recent History Course and their friends) and unevitably led to the Headmaster's office.

Hermione blinked. She probably shouldn't have called her professor a bullying creature, but she couldn't have helped it. She had pried information about "old Marauders' days" from Remus after the war and knowing that... that _woman_ had been there, had seen it and hadn't done _anything_ to stop it hadn't calmed her down the least bit.

She had to admit to herself she had turned a little bitchy then.

At that moment an owl landed gently next to her, offering her a letter. Well, if it was another plea to take that curse of the old cow, Hermione would just throw it away. She took the letter and petted the owl. It refused to leave.

Hermione noticed the Hogwarts sign on the parchment and tore the letter open.

_Dear Hermione,_ it read, _I would need a big favour from you. There was an accident and Severus isn't fit to teach right now. Could you possible take over his lessons for a while? I know you have just started your first term at university, but I have noone else to turn to right now. I will personally clear the matter with the university, so that you could not worry about your studies. Please respond as quickly as possible.  
Sincerely,  
Albus Dumbledore._

Hermione looked around. The presence of an owl strengthened her muggle-repellent spell and the poor businessman had almost nowhere to look now. Hermione found a quill and quickly scribbled a short answer before giving the letter back to the owl.

"I surely don't worry about my studies now, Professor," she mumbled to herself and got up. She had some packing to do.

* * *

Just three hours later, Hermione stepped in the Headmaster's office, sporting an unsure smile. Dumbledore showed her into a cosy chair and offered her tea and a lemon drop. 

"So, Professor..." Hermione started.

"Albus," Dumbledore interrupted.

"So, well, Albus," Hermione blushed, "what happenned?" Dumbledore smiled with a twinkle in his eyes and Hermione's blush deepened. Of course, her haste had nothing to do with words _Severus isn't fit to teach_ and her heart had NOT skipped a beat at every mention of... him. All the situation only tackled her scientific interest. Yes. Only that.

"We aren't sure," Dumbledore admitted. "It seems that Severus was making a potion when something caused it to explode. It was probably one of his experiments."

"Is he alright?" Hermione queried, trying her best to pretend that her concern was merely... concern.

"We don't know. We haven't found him yet." Hermione contemplated this bit of information for a minute. Then she blinked.

"You haven't found him?" Albus nodded. "As, you haven't found Professor Snape?" Albus nodded again. Hermione sat quietly, eyes closed, breathing evenly.

"We don't know what happenned, but I sincerely hope you could enlighten it a bit. You may be able to understand Severus's notes."

"What notes?" Hermione asked and stretched out her hand.

"Notes that simply have to be somewhere in Severus' laboratory. After all, he's always been very methodical. Do you want to see his office now?" Hermione nodded and stood up.

* * *

Stewart and Orla were sitting on a couch in the Ravenclaw Common room writing their homework. The squirrel, who Orla had decided to call Lucky, was playing with a closed ink bottle. Stewart looked up and frowned. 

"I think he's going to open it."

"So he'll open it," Orla replied calmly.

"You know, the blue ink and yellow fabric, we'll end up with a green couch," Stewart complained. "A _Slytherin_ couch."

"Nothing one good Scourgify couldn't sort out." Orla turned a page, glanced upon Lucky and smiled softly before returning to the textbook. Stewart scowled.

"You're all over the stupid squirrel," he accused his girlfriend. "Don't you remember it's Snape's pet?" Orla put down the book and straightened up.

"What's your problem, Stewart?"

"My problem? I don't have a problem," Stewart shouted, throwing arms in the air. Lucky dropped the ink bottle and watched him warily.

"Then why are you so bitchy?"

"I'm not bitchy," Stewart said in a bitchy voice. "I just don't like that blasted squirrel!" He waved one fist in the general direction of the animal. Lucky barred his teeth and hissed.

"You may want to calm down, Stewart, rainbow squirrells can produce..."

"I don't care what they produce, they're just stupid animals and this particular one BELONGS TO THAT DAMNED BASTARD SNAPE!" Stewart shouted.

"Stewart!" Orla jumped to her feet and Stewart took one step towards her.

There was a bright flash followed by a cry of pain. When the Ravenclaws blinked away black dots from their eyes, they saw one burnt prefect Stewart Ackerley facing a small squirrel. Lucky looked vaguely familiar.

"Rainbow squirrells can produce a variation of a burning hex when feeling insecure," Orla finished blankly.

"Reminds a bit of Snape, doesn't he?" one of the seventh years remarked.

"Yeah, you know, his master rubbing off on him and such," someone else replied.

Orla turned to Stewart, a look of concern on her face. "Maybe you should..."

"Leave me all alone!" he snapped, drawing another hiss from Lucky. Then he turned and quickly left, presumably to see Madame Pomfrey. Orla reached out for Lucky and petted him.

"He'll come around," she said. "Probably. I hope," she added after a while. "Anyway, it's just you and me for now." Lucky picked up the ink bottle and resumed playing with it.

* * *

Hermione strolled through the Hogwarts' corridors, feeling quite inappropriate. She hadn't had much time to walk around during day ever since, well, ever since her third year. She had had too much work to do. And even if she had been wandering around the castle, she would have evaded the dungeons the best she could. 

The door to Snape's office were slightly ajar. Hermione knocked lightly before pushing it open and stepping in. Her eyes widened in horror as she took in the picture of total destruction and chaos. Parts of broken furniture were laying all around the room, mixed with books, parchments, phials and a lot of unidentifiable stuff. Most off it was brightly yellow or venomously green, although other offending colours were also present. Near a pile of cauldrons (one of them shone orange like a Chudley Cannons poster) stood Harry Potter and Remus Lupin, arguing about a piece of parchment. Hermione cleared her throat.

"He has no right to keep it! Besides, it might not be my mother at all!" Harry said savagely.

"Well, if the flashing red hair and green eyes haven't told you yet, there's Lily Evans written at the bottom of the parchment," Remus pointed out.

"How dares he! That blasted, greasy, fu..."

"I would only wish you could possibly start to watch your language one day," Hermione interrupted, before Harry reached parts of his vocabulary she didn't like at all. Both men jumped and Remus staggered a bit, leaning against a wall to steady himself.

"Hermione," Harry said flatly. "Hermione!" he exclaimed happily, as her presence registered with his brain. "I thought you were in Manchester. What are you doing here?"

"Well... Prof... Albus asked me to fill in for _Professor_ Snape," she replied.

"But what about your studies?" Remus queried. "Aren't you going to fall behind?" Hermione felt heat rising to her face.

"No worry there," she dismissed the question. "What have you found so far?"

"We found a drawing of my mother," Harry answered angrily. "As if Snape has some _right_ to keep her picture, slimy bastard!" Of course he didn't, she wanted to reply. And not only to own, but to draw the picture, if she could tell by the two words under the lean, attractive figure. And those careful lines that gave some life to the simple drawing, made the girl's skirt look really vivid and kept the static picture in motion... somehow. And the subtle colouring of the girl's eyes and hair. And the exact shadowing of each curve, yes, Severus Snape had definitely _drawn_ the picture.

Of course he didn't have a _right,_ but Hermione would be damned if she said it aloud.

"Why not? And you could talk better about him, he _did_ save your life during the war." Hermione took the parchment from Harry's hands and pretended to study Lily Evans' face, while in fact she was admiring the technique.

"But he called her a mudblood, I heard it!"

"Harry, your mum died when you were only a year old, you can't remember anything like that," Hermione sighed impatiently. "And I meant..."

"I saw it in a pensieve, she wanted to help him and he called her a little filthy MUDBLOOD!"

"In a pensieve?" Hermione looked up curiously. "Snape showed you one of his memories?" Harry fidgeted. "Well?"

"Well, he didn't exactly show it to me... more like... I... accidentally... might have... who cares!" he shouted in defence. Hermione had a distant feeling she didn't want to know how Harry had come across the memory. Sometimes she wanted to hex him.

"Did she really look like that? She was really pretty," she changed the topic instead.

"Who?" both the men asked.

"Never mind. Have you found anything useful?" And with that question, Hermione pocketed the picture of Lily Evans and turned on her analytic brain.

* * *

**A/N:** So, here's the second pawn on the field... finally. I know I'm a day later than I promised, the real life intervened. I can't make any promises about the next chapter right now; the storyline is clear in my mind, but not all the scenes. While you're waiting, why don't you review this one (as you know it would please me)? ;) 


	3. Reading Your Mind

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Send Me a Letter  
Reading Your Mind**

* * *

Hermione sighed and looked around the room again. So far she had found a violet three-legged stool, a sculpture of a hippogriff taking off, various small objects of unknown purpose - all in hideous colours - few totally drenched parchments, absolutely useless, and a pink hat with fruit on the top that she was sure had never belonged to Snape. 

In fact, Hermione had been sure Snape had never obtained anything of the rubbish currently laying on the floor of his office. The potion had to have some transfiguring qualities, but to be sure about what, she had to find Snape's notes.

Some of it might have been on the destroyed parchments, but Hermione hoped Snape had been careful enough to keep another set of instructions, notes and achievements somewhere safe, in a different room probably.

The explosion had hit Snape's wards hard and for Hermione Granger it wasn't difficult to find a hidden door at the back of the office and deal with the rest of its warding. It led to a smaller room with a desk, a chair and a fireplace. This room had been shielded effectively from the office itself and seemed to be in order. Hermione settled down behind the desk and began her search. The drawers were locked with a spell each, but Hermione managed to figure them out with nothing worse than a mild burn on her right forearm. The toppest drawer contained spare parchments, quills and ink bottles. The middle one revealed a neat set of notebooks. Hermione blinked away her surprise and flipped one of them open. The neat scripture explained desired effect of an experimental potion, starting with describing theoretical base of the research. Hermione skipped pages of failures to check on the latest stage. The ingredients didn't match those Harry and Lupin had found traces of, so she put the notebook down and reached for another.

She was about a middle of the stack when the fireplace came to life and an irritated voice bounced off the stone walls.

"Snape! What the hell do you think... who are you?" The witch in the fireplace seemed to be in her late thirties, although it was always hard to tell with all the cosmetic potions being on the market, and eyed Hermione suspiciously. Hermione squarred her shoulders. She wouldn't feel intimidated here, in Snape's workroom - at least not by anyone but Snape himself.

"I'm Professor Granger," she replied dryly. "Was there anything you needed?" The other witch looked unsure and quickly scanned the room with her eyes.

"I want to talk to Professor Snape. It's very urgent," she said finally.

"I'm afraid it's not possible. There was an accident and Professor Snape isn't... available." Hermione felt a bit like a five-years-old playing at a lady with friends.

"What about the order we placed this morning? The potion should have been finished by now."

"What kind of a potion was it?"

* * *

Two hours later, Hermione finally finished going through Snape's notebooks and had to admit a defeat. There wasn't a single word on any transfigurative potion anywhere, even in the lowest drawer. 

In fact, the lowest drawer didn't contain anything magical. Aside from Byron's works... in leather.

Hermione turned to a blackboard she had asked a house-elf for. She had taken great care in drawing a complete flowchart of making an Advanced Diagnostic Draught, however, it was good for nothing without knowing anything about the experimental potion.

There _had_ to be those notes somewhere.

Maybe Snape sometimes took his notes to his chambers? For an evening reading?

Getting access to Snape's personal rooms wasn't easy, but Hermione could learn from what she had seen before. Breaking through wardings on Snape's small workroom and drawers of his desk helped a great deal. In less than half an hour, Hermione persuaded a house-elf to show her before Snape's door, embarrassed him with too many thanks and an offer of a pair of gloves, figured out Snape's wardings, treated her slightly itching palm and homed in on Snape's personal stock of spirit. Which happenned to be Firewhiskey.

Glass in a hand, tears in eyes, she began her search. She took in her surroundings absentmindedly - dark walls, thin carpet, heavy furniture, a desk in a shadowed corner.

The desk she warily approached. After all, there was no reason for it not to be warded as well.

But it wasn't and Hermione sat down and began opening its drawers. There was a stock of letters, apparently personal, and under them the notebook she was looking for. Hermione's eyes widened in awe as she scannned through pages and pages of detailed notes. Finally she knew everything she needed and moved to close the drawer. One of the letters fell out and opened on the floor and she bent to pick it up. Nearly against her will, she read the first line of it and decided for another glass of Firewhiskey.

The letter was addressed to her.

* * *

"So, you think that Severus isn't missing, we only don't know which of the strange items in his office he has become?" Albus Dumbledore let his fingers roam through his long beard as he rethough the idea. 

"He was trying to create a cure to Lycanthropy, an antidote to what starts the transfiguration," Hermione replied. "The potion itself shouldn't be able to transfigure anything, but combined with the Advanced Diagnostic Potion, and they must have been mixed together somehow, such reaction is possible."

"I'll tell Remus and Harry to check everything again and ask Minerva for help - maybe some students of her NEWT courses might be able to give a hand, too. For now, Hermione, you should go to bed. You are supposed to teach in the morning and it's already well past the bedtime." Albus showed her to the door, his eyes all the time twinkling merrily, as if the problem was already solved.

Hermione went to bed, but she couldn't fall asleep. She had gone through the stack of letters she had found in Snape's desk. They were all addressed to her. The first ones were short, demanding, arrogant. Then there were longer ones, and even a bit softer, and a few nearly pleading, and one she couldn't describe anything but blabbering, as if Snape had intended to say something and hadn't known how. Hermone though she knew what the letters meant, and it made her feel weirdly uncertain.

Why would Snape, of all people, want to become close to her? And more than just close...

She finally drifted to sleep just few hours before dawning and slept restlessly.

* * *

An hour before breakfast, Hermione stepped in Snape's office again. This time she was greeted by stern Professor McGonagall, ruffled Harry and yawning Ron Weasley. 

"Hi Hermione," her friends chorused, while McGonagall shortly nodded.

"As I was saying, the formula is very easy and unharmful to anything that hasn't been transfigured. What are you waiting for?" Harry and Ron exchanged unsure glances and picked a random piece of rubbish each. Harry was the first to place his on the floor before him. Then he drew his wand, waved it and mumbled something. Nothing happenned.

"You have to say it aloud, Mister Potter," McGonagall said. Hermione watched as Harry repeated the incantation and an unidentified purple debris turned into a book. Ron let out his breath.

"For a moment, I was worried," he remarked and picked up the book. "Who's Keates?"

"A Muggle poet," Hermione replied and left. She felt very uneasy. What if these two found Snape? As a purple umbrella or a pink three-legged stool? What a laugh they would have!

And what, doesn't he deserve it, asked a bit sour, quiet voice in her head. And an even quieter voice replied, no, he doesn't. And what if, the first voice insisted. So what, the other voice shrugged.

* * *

Hermione's first lesson _ever_ was supposed to be fifth years Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff. As the students were filing in the classroom, Hermione tried to remember what it had been like, being a fifth-year in October. It seemed so long ago, setting up Dumbledore's Army, dealing with Umbridge... and her inspections... Hermione felt heat rising to her cheeks at an unexpected memory and had to step out of the classroom, from students' curious eyes. 

"Still no luck?" she asked Harry and Ron, who had spent two hours already re-transfiguring everything in the room.

"Well, depends what you call luck," Harry replied and held up a piece of parchment, probably someone's essay. What the student wrote Hermione couldn't read at the distance, but the word "idiot", spelled in capital letters, was clearly visible and she grinned.

"Carry on then." She turned back, calmed herself as much as possible and faced the students.

"Hello, class. As you've probably heard, Professor Snape..." Hermione was interrupted by a loud squeak. Before she could even think of finding its source, she was hit with a fluffy ball, all squeaking and squealing. The little creature climbed up Hermione's body, licking occasionally at an exposed piece of skin, and settled in her hair, chirping happily.

"I'm sorry, Professor," a Ravenclaw girl stood up and tried to reach for the animal. "Come here, Lucky. He's never done anything like that. Well, never since yesterday." The girl frowned, as the animal evaded her hands again, hiding behind Hermione's neck for a second. "I wouldn't expect it from him, anyway, as he belongs to Professor Snape, you know... Oh, Lucky, come _here!_" Hermione noted the girl was a prefect.

"Does he?" she inquired and reached up. There was no resistence as she closed her hands around a little furry body and brought it to an inspection.

"Yes, we found him in his office," the prefect continued. "A little miracle, wasn't it, Lucky?" Hermione eyed the squirrel suspiciously. Snape and a _squirrel?_ Nevertheless, she scratched Lucky's belly.

"What's..." Hermione traced a long white scar with her thumb.

"Must have been a very nasty wound, leaving a scar like... this," the prefect supplied.

"Yes," Hermione whispered. "Yes, it was."

"Professor?" But Hermione's mind was months and miles away, in a deep dungeon, surrounded by dead bodies, left behind by the rest of the Order, by her friends, or maybe it had been her who left them behind.

* * *

The smell was terrible - Hermione was sure someone or something had been left dead and rotting down here weeks ago. The dim light didn't help and her wand had been broken by a Death Eater - she had been lucky to find a large piece of glass just in time to stop him from delivering the Killing Curse. Still, she should look for another wand and try to catch up with the rest of them, the Order, Harry, whoever... She should, but she couldn't. 

"Severus!" she yelled, every pretence and dignity having been eaten by her fear. Fear that had filled her very heart with coldness. "Severus!"

She was crawling through corpses, debris, shattered wood and glass, seeking that one body that _had to_ be still alive, against anything. And she found it.

Found him.

His breath was shallow and unsteady, but at the very least, he was still breathing. There was a pool of blood underneath him. Hermione grabbed his wrists and pulled at them, unsuccessfully.

"Professor," she begged, "let me help you."

"Don't need... help... filthy... Mudblood..." came a quiet, feverish reply. Hermione felt tears in her eyes.

Still, he had saved Lupin just few minutes ago.

"Where's your wand?" Hermione quickly searched as many of his pockets as she could and froze when she spotted a broken wand just under his shoulder. Broken, like hers.

She placed her hands atop his and burst in tears. There was no way she could heal the gush without a wand. She just wished it would disappear.

It did. She stopped crying to watch her own hands perform wandless magic. She watched in awe as the bleeding stopped and the wound closed itself, leaving only a white scar. Snape passed out finally and Hermione started her search for a wand anew. She retreaved one from the Death Eater who had nearly killed her.

* * *

"Professor?" the Ravenclaw prefect repeated and Hermione snapped back to presence. 

"Start reading about the Strengthening Solution. I will be right back." Hermione turned and carried Lucky into Snape's office.

"Ron, go get some meal from the kitchens, will you? Thanks. And Harry, would you mind fetching Albus here? Very nice of you." Neither of the boys discussed her orders and neither disobeyed - at least as to leaving the room immediately. Hermione put the squirrel on the floor, petting his head for the last time.

"Stay here," she said gently when Lucky stood up to follow her. She stopped three paces from him, pointed a wand and cast the re-transfiguring spell.

He didn't look very dignified, sitting crouched in the middle of all the debris. She had been right to do this alone. His eyes were clouded and he sported a confused expression. Slowly, he stood up.

"Do you have your wand?" Hermione asked curtly. Snape drew his wand. "Alright then. Albus will be here in no time, and some decent meal. I have a class to attend." Hermione returned to the classroom.

"Now, class. What do you think will be the most tricky part of making the Strengthening Solution?" Hermione addressed the students with sudden certainty. She could do this. As well as everything else.

* * *

"Severus, it's very nice to see you again." 

"Aerr... um... again, Headmaster?"

"Hello, Professor."

"Well, after you've been... out for some time. Do you feel quite well?"

"Yes... no... I don't remember anything."

"Hermione, here's... ah, Professor. Where's Hermione?"

"Not at all? Pity, that. I'll have to ask Hermione about it than."

"Her... Hermione?"

"Miss Granger, Severus. I see she has arranged for a light snack. Maybe you should take the rest of the day off, Severus, relax, have some fun. That is, after Poppy claims you well and healthy. You surely don't _look_ healthy. What are you two sniggering at?"

"Nothing, sir."

* * *

Severus Snape didn't like the rest of that day very much. He had spent hours at the hospital wing, having Poppy Pomfrey running all sorts of tests over him. Just before the dinnertime, Albus had informed him he had been transfigured into a squirrel and being taken care of by a Ravenclaw _student_. 

At least the squirrel had been magical and, as Poppy had told him, had taught Ackerley some manners.

Albus had assured him Miss Granger had promised not to breathe a word about his... _condition_ to a living soul, which hadn't been very comforting given the number of ghosts and portraits all around Hogwarts. Gossipping portraits. Oh, Merlin. Over dinner, he had received a very angry owl from Mungo's, complaining about his tardiness. One would think having one's office blown up and oneself transfigured into an incompetent animal would excuse not making one blasted potion. Snape had owled back, not choosing his words very carefully, omitting only furry and fluffy details of the incident. He should have sent them a Howler, Snape mused as he sank in an armchair. He might still send one - that would teach them.

There was a piece of parchment lying on his desk.

Snape lit a candle over his desk, stood up and approached it. It was a letter, one he himself had written, or better had started to write. It began with words "Hermione, please," and never continued.

There was another line under this one. It said: "Yes?" in a handwriting he would always recognise. Snape cleared his throat.

"I will wait for the answer here, if you don't mind." Something moved in the darkest corner.

"It might take some time. I must admit I'm not very good with writing letters." Or sending them, Snape added in his head.

"I'm very good at waiting." A pair of arms slipped around his waist, almost directly above the scar, and locked there. One of Snape's hands rested on them, out of its own will.

An owl knocked at the window. Mungo's answer, probably. Or some order. Or whatever. They could wait.

Or go to hell.

* * *

**A/N:** So, that's the story (ufff!). I'm very sorry about the long delay - my muse and my computer betrayed me both at once. Hope you like the conclusion. Please, review, it makes my day (or night or whenever I manage to check nowadays). 


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